


All About Clarke

by vallennes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 50's AU but no homophobia, AU Old Hollywood, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Historical, Clarke Griffin/Lexa Angst that does not end well, F/F, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, I Don't Even Know, I don't know where this story will end up, Lexa Death Warning, Reimagined The 100, The AU no one asked for, Why Did I Write This?, lots of sex and drug mentions but nothing explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-03-08 01:05:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13447245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vallennes/pseuds/vallennes
Summary: Old Hollywood but with The 100 characters. It's 1949 and Clarke is an aspiring actress who just landed her first big film role. She meets Bellamy, Octavia, Murphy and the others through a series of horrible events with only her best pal Raven at her side. Clarke will attempt to navigate the Golden Age of Hollywood - with all its booze, sex, and drugs. There are a litany of people who never made it out of the machine alive, and Clarke will find out if she's one of them.





	1. Her Impact

**Author's Note:**

> I've taken liberty and removed the homophobia and racism from the 1950's lol.

It was December 29th, 1949. 

The second world war was over. Nazis were officially evil, Almost half a year of rebuilding had risen the spirits of near every citizen. With the end of the war came the end of rationing - and with it came materialism.

It was the year of colour televisions, pantyhose, polaroid cameras, silly putty, and the legalization of divorce after a twenty year ban sanctioned by the Institution of Citizenry Moral Brigadiers. 

George Orwell’s 1984 was published that summer, Indonesia gained its independence before Christmas, and ICMB was set to be dismantled as a government office on New Years Eve. 

Geneva’s fourth convention, the Emmy’s first award show, and NATO’s establishment came along at the same time as well. The world seemed to be racing forward through progress after so many years lost in brutality.

Clarke Griffin was a background extra. That’s what it said on her contract with Twentieth-Century Fox. She had enough money for a car and to live in her own apartment near the studio lot. No more actor communes for her! No more roommates or bus rides or modeling! 

Well... 

With a final assured glance to her bank book, her lips twisted. 

Maybe some modeling was still necessary, but with her natural blonde hair, big blue eyes, and what the boys in the big suits called “an hourglass figure,” modeling gigs weren’t hard to come by. 

The doorbell rung above Clarke’s head and immediately she was accosted with the stench of cigarette smoke. She coughed and waved a white-gloved hand in front of her nose. The room was filled with blue smoke and dim light. The windows were unwashed and dirty. 

Barely making out the form of a person in a chair, she made her way towards him.

Or rather... Her. 

She was a small woman in large overalls and over-sized boots. Her black hair was pushed back in a handkerchief and looked to be several days absent from a curler!

Trying not to show her disgust, Clarke cleared her throat. The girl’s boots were on the desk and her head was half hanging off the wooden chair, a snore the only indication she was asleep and not dead. 

Clarke looked about and saw a bell on the table. Even ringing that didn’t wake the girl. A second figure entered the horrible smoke-filled cavern and shouted, “Octavia!” before Clarke could do anything else.

The girl was awake before her feet hit the floor. Her eyes found Clarke’s.

“Can I help you?” she asked. Her voice was deep and antagonizing.

“Is this a car dealership or a hotel?” Clarke spat. “I’ve half a mind to go somewhere else.”

The second figure went to the garage door and ripped it open. Light flooded the room and now Clarke could see it was a messy mechanic shop. Oil splattered the floor and paint splattered the walls. Octavia squinted into the light and gave a sigh. “I was trying to sleep,” she said to the retreating figure.

In the light Clarke could see he was a man. He barely looked at her before he disappeared back into the office he had come from.

“What kind of car you looking for?” asked the girl, jaw working. She lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

“I’ve got-,”

“You know what? We’ve got the perfect car for you,” Octavia said, her eyes wandering up and down Clarke’s body. She braced herself for an insult, but all the girl said was, “1948 Chevrolet Fleetmaster convertible.”

“A convertible?” asked Clarke, her eyebrows perking up.

“You look like a girl who likes pretty things,” Octavia said, cigarette bouncing between her lips with every word. She was still squinting into the light, as if daylight was a rare thing for her. 

“I don’t.”

“Yeah yeah. We can offer you a payment plan. $50 a month. Or up front it’ll be $900. ‘That’s quite cheap for a convertible?’ Yes, it is. How’d you hear about us anyways?”

“Twentieth-Century Fox said-.”

“An actor! I knew there was something about you with a bit of shine and glimmer to it. Any movies I might’ve seen you in? Wait, don’t answer. Casablanca?” Octavia nudged her with a snicker.

Clarke gave her a tight smile. “Please stop trying to butter me up.”

“Cut to the chase? Alright. Yeah we cut good deals for some guys and gals at Twentieth. Who’d you hear about us from?”

“Raven Reyes.”

Octavia appraised Clarke with a half-smile. “Tell you what. New deal. $40 a month.”

Clarke’s brows shot up.

“Quite a deal, eh?” Octavia said.

“What’s the condition of it?”

“I’ll walk you over.” Octavia grabbed a set of keys and guided Clarke out of the garage door. “She’s in good condition. Only one accident - minor damage. She’s been refurbished completely and we’re offering a special discount. You won’t find another one in the city this low.”

“I’m suspicious. It is a good deal.. Too good.”

Octavia inhaled from her smoke deeply and sighed. The cloud was carried off by the hot California breeze. “The previous owner was someone we knew. She died in an accident. The same one as,” she gestured to the car. “A lot of bad memories attached. Get it?”

Clarke nodded.

“Octavia!” came a sudden bellow.

Clarke turned, watching the man from before exit the garage. Octavia stomped out her cigarette and crossed her arms, awaiting the coming barrage of anger.

“What is it, big brother?” she asked sardonically.

“Not that one,” he said. He didn’t even look at Clarke, just jabbed a finger in Octavia’s direction. “I told you before: that one stays.” Octavia was downright glaring at him.

“I’ll sell what I want. I own this business too. My name’s on it too!”

“Sell her anything else.”

“I’m right here,” Clarke said abhorrently. Not even an introduction! Her eyes appraised his oil-soaked jeans and white tee shirt. Flagrantly bohemian. His sun-kissed skin bulged out from his shirt and dirt and oil was smeared on almost every last surface of him. His thick black hair was loose in curls about his head. There seemed to be not an ounce of hair gel!

He was still arguing with his sister over which car to sell Clarke when she grabbed him by the arm and turned him to face her.

“I won’t be disrespected by someone of your caliber any longer. If I’m the customer you will talk directly to me. If I’m continuously ignored I’ll leave. Then you needn’t argue anymore. This can be easy but you’re making it annoyingly difficult.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, you’re not a hostage. You are free to go,” said the man with a smirk and a mock bow.

Octavia sighed. “Bellamy, don’t antagonize the custome-” 

“I’m not a customer any longer,” Clarke said, brow furrowing as she stepped toward him. She got right up, looked him up and down, and said, “Worst service I’ve received in my life.”

His dark eyes narrowed, dancing with humour. She could see a splattering of freckles across his nose. A delightfully boyish look for this otherwise disgraceful man. “I’m still waiting for you to leave.”

“I will. You don’t deserve my money.”

As Clarke stomped toward the exit, she heard the man say to Octavia, “I thought I told you to never sell to anyone from that fucking place again?”

 

“What awful place did you send me to?” Clarke whispered harshly during dance class on the studio lot. The stunning bronze-skinned girl shot a grin over her shoulder, her long, brown ponytail sashaying to the side.

“The Blakes are a riot,” she said. “I haven’t seen them in almost a year. How are they?”

“Apparently, quite awful. I left with only a bad attitude to show for my trouble. What a waste of bus fare.”

“Are you calling Bellamy a man? Ha! He’s barely more than a boy.”

“How do you know him?”

“Bellamy and I dated, dear. Not for too long. He gives good deals to his friends. It was a lucrative relationship when I needed a car.” She laughed, then looked at Clarke mid-stretch, her leg hung over the bar. “He’s a nice guy. Don’t think of me as a user. We just don’t fit like that.”

Clarke nodded her head with a big smile, then said, “Anyways, Lexa got me a huge part in an upcoming film. That’s the only thing keeping me sane after that horrendous encounter.”

“Oh?”

“It’s called ‘All About Eve.’ I’m only in one scene but Abigail Davis will star in it, can you believe that?”

“Clarke! That’s great news. Congratulations!” Raven bounced in excitement. “It must be nice having an agent girlfriend with connections.” She looked at her sharply. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound rude. But, it’s...”

“It’s true,” Clarke said. “It’s a stepping stone That’s right. We all know it. When you love someone, you want to help them succeed, don’t you?” Clarke smiled, but it quickly disappeared. “I can’t think about her right now. Her wife won’t divorce her. I’ll never be more than a mistress. People will always assume naughty things about me.”

“C’mon Clarke. Labels don’t mean anything.”

“It does to me,” she said, turning away sharply. “How long have I been waiting for a family of my own? My father was never apart of my life, and my mother is so busy managing me she has no time to really care for me. No siblings to help cheer up the day.” Clarke sighed and looked at Raven, blinking rapidly. “When I met Lexa, I finally felt like I had a home. But...,”

“You do have a family. You’re looking at her,” Raven said. When Clarke met her gaze, Raven smirked, rubbing Clarke’s arm tenderly. “Look. It’s Friday and there’s a party at Marcus Kane’s house. I’m supposed to serve alcohol and look nice,” she said with a roll of her eyes, “but if you come with me I bet we could have a lot more fun.”

“Marcus Kane? Why is that name so familiar?”

“Because he’s the best director nobody’s heard of. He’s made amazing foreign films en Francais est in Italian and has only just moved to Hollywood. For a film project, no less.”

“You think there’s a chance he could hire you-?”

“Do you-?”

“Of course-!”

“Me too!” 

“I’ll go.”

Raven’s arms slung around Clarke’s neck. “Thank you so much.”


	2. His Hospitality

“An actress are you? My dear, you look as if you’re barely out of the cradle. How on earth are you ever going to make it in these shark infest waters?"

Abigail Davis was absolutely stunning in person. Her brown hair was perfectly coiled to her shoulders, her eyebrows striking and severe. Her warm brown eyes were framed with long eyelashes, made longer by the studio make-up covering her aging but beautiful face.

“I’ve got a great agent.”

“Lexa Anders, correct?”

“Yes,” said Clarke with an eager nod. Her diamond earrings glittered beside her pale cheek, bobbing as her head moved. Abigail’s eyes rolled over the young girl’s face. She was obviously not from around here. The sun had not yet given her face that glow that was all too familiar out here in Hollywood.

“Mrs. Anders. Always a tiger. With her, you’ll never have to worry about any nasty sharks,” said Abigail, matching Clarke’s smile.

Abigail took a sip from her champagne glass, eyes darting across the crowd. She was looking for an exit as she shrugged her white fur boa higher onto her frail shoulders.

“Anyways, I just wanted to say how excited I am to be working with you.”

“Working with me?” Abigail seemed stunned. “On what picture, my dear?”

“’All About Eve.’”

“Oh yes. I’m so sorry, I don’t think I know who you are. What role have you got?”

“It’s alright that you don’t know me at all. I’ve only got a few lines. I just wanted to thank you for your time and wish you a good night and also I can’t wait to see you on set.”

“All the same to you my dear,” said Abigail, waving her long fingers at Clarke as she was swept away into the crowd.

Clarke’s eyes scanned the crowd, looking for Raven. For someone who was here to support Raven and help her network, she’d seen very little of the girl. They’d arrived and after a few drinks and a few distractions she disappeared.

Arms came around Clarke’s stomach, squeezing tightly. Lips planted a kiss at the nape of her neck. Clarke jumped, her nerves on fire.

Spinning, she saw Lexa’s beautiful smile. Her hand came up to stroke Clarke’s chin for the briefest of moments.

“It’s so good to see you,” she said.

“You didn’t tell me you’d be here,” said Clarke with a splitting smile. Their hands grappled for each other and then dropped quickly, remembering where they were.

“I didn’t think you’d want to come,” said Lexa, her smile still perfectly poised. Her big eyes were glittering with affection. Clarke could barely contain herself from touching her. “You don’t need to go to parties now that you’ve got me,” Lexa said, “What are you doing here? I thought you hated these kind of events.”

“I’m here with Raven Reyes. Have you seen her?”

“Who is that?”

“She’s-.”

“Clarke Griffin,” came a voice behind her. Lexa reached out and took the hand of her wife, Costia Cruz, guiding her to her side. On Costia’s arm was a beautiful purse which sparkled and glittered almost extra-terrestrially in gold sequins. Clarke recognized it, because it’d been a present Lexa had tried giving her. She’d refused, asking for her hand in marriage instead.

“That’s the one thing I can’t give you,” Lexa had replied.

“A pleasure,” said Clarke. Without a pause, she excused herself from the angry eyes of the beautiful woman. Lexa and Clarke’s affair was well known under the glitz and glamour of what the studios allowed the press to print. Costia knew, and hated her. Lexa tried to keep them separated at all costs in order to avoid drama. One woman who would not push for a divorce, one woman who would not sign a divorce, and one woman who so badly wanted the divorce. The new legality of it all didn’t change the social stigma.

Clarke sighed and sat down on the steps, draining the last of her champagne as she surveyed the house before her. It was an open floor condo in the Hollywood hills. Beautiful floor-to-ceiling windows covered nearly every wall. 

There were a group of surly looking men playing cards and enjoying cigars in one room, while another, larger, crowd gathered in the recreational room to play pool. They were being raucous with their laughter and fun. Clarke turned away and headed into the card room.

“Hello and good evening Ms. Griffin,” said Marcus Kane. His brown hair, perfectly coiffed, was streaked with a pleasant gray. His beard was perfectly manicured and his eyes were kind and welcoming.

“A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Kane.”

“Marcus, please,” he said, gesturing for Clarke to sit with him.

“Then please call me Clarke,” she said, giving him a forward smile. “I’m so happy to finally meet you in person. I’ve been a fan for quite some time.”

“Ah,” said Kane with a nod. “Well, tonight I don’t talk work. I talk money. Care to make a wager?”

“I don’t gamble,” Clarke said with a tight smile. The other men at the table gave little offended grunts. Kane shuffled the deck.

“It’s not for everyone.”

“I just wanted to say I’m so excited to be working with you on ‘All About Eve.’”

“Mrs. Anders had high praise for you.”

“I hope I won’t disappoint you - or Mrs. Davis.”

“I think it’s Ms. Davis now,” said one of the men at the table with a sneer.

“Nothing wrong with that,” said Kane, “Sounds like a woman who knows what she wants.” Turning back to Clarke, he took her hand and gave it a squeeze, “I look forward to working with you as well. All the best until we meet again.”

Clarke nodded, removing herself from the table before the next round could be played. The loud laughter from the next room was nearly deafening so Clarke took a peak inside.

Smoke made the air thick. The men made the air hot. They were all standing in a circle cheering at something in the middle.

Pushing her way through - her jaw fell open. Raven was crawling on her knees, obviously very drunk, and a man was riding her back as if she were a horse. 

“Giddy-up!” he said through tears of laughter.

Clarke shoved him from Raven and he stumbled to the floor. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she barked, pulling Raven to her feet - which she could barely stand on. Looking into the girl’s eyes, she muttered, “We’re leaving.”

“Hey, whoa,” said the man, pointing one of the fingers that was wrapped around a glass of liquor, now nearly empty, at her, “She did this willingly, okay?”

“I don’t believe you.”

“She said she wanted a role so we were doing an audition, alright?”

“Who are you, anyways?”

“John Murphy, directo-.”

“Ugh. I know who you are. And what kind of role did you offer? Something in one of your sick fetish movies?”

“Yeah, alright, I wouldn’t expect someone from - what’s that accent, upstate Maine? - to understand the complex genius of my films.” He took a sip. “She didn’t get the role anyways. We need someone who can be a convincing horse.”

“Pfft.”

“And who are you?” he said, with a toothy smile that made the hairs on the back of Clarke’s neck stand on end.

“Nobody you need to know.” She stalked off, dragging Raven with her. “We’re getting the hell out of here. I’m going to go find Lexa, you sit right here and don’t move.” Clarke laid the girl’s head back on the hallway couch pillows and then darted into the crowd. It was noticeably thinner now. With dinner, desert, and coffee finished everyone was beginning to go home and Lexa was nowhere in sight. Neither was Costia.

Confronting the remaining guests led to no fruition of help. They were all famous and rich movie moguls and had no time to talk to some third grade actress, let alone help her. 

With a sigh of frustration, Clarke picked up the hallway phone and flipped through Kane’s phonebook. He did indeed have a taxi number in there, and Clarke was ever so grateful for it.

“At WHO’S house?” barked the taxi operator in shock when she finished speaking.

“Marcus Kane,” repeated Clarke, feeling slightly important and pleased with herself as the man guffawed over the phone. After he confirmed a cab was on the way, she returned to her friend. 

Raven was half-unconscious and spitting up all over herself. Clarke checked her pulse and her breathing, both were laboured. She was beginning to suspect someone slipped Raven a mickey. Was it that nasty little slug Murphy?

When one of the men smoking outside said, “What peasant ordered a cab?” Clarke knew it was time to get the hell out of there. Dragging Raven into the cab was no easy feet. The girl was knocked out cold.

“Let me help,” said the cab driver. He hurried around the car and scooped up Raven’s legs. With a bit of effort the two of them managed to get her into the cab.

“That looks like Raven Reyes,” said the driver.

“It is-,” Clarke stopped mid-sentence when she saw who it was. “You.” Her eyes narrowed.

A dawning expression crossed the man’s face when he realized he, too, knew Clarke. He spun on his heel without a word and climbed back into the driver’s seat. When Clarke did not follow, he leaned across the cab and rolled down the passenger window.

“You coming?” he called.

“Are we going to discuss this?”

“Discuss what? It’s a business transaction. Get in the car, lady.”

Clarke slid in next to Raven, clutching both of their purses tightly in her lap. She gave the man Rave’s address and then watched him carefully as they pulled out of Marcus Kane’s long driveway.

“I hope all your business transactions don’t go as well as our last one,” said Clarke absently. She saw his eyes flash to hers in the rear view mirror.

“Why don’t you wait and find out instead of yammering on,” he said, half under his breath.

Clarke made a small sound of disgust, which made the man speak up even louder.

“All I’m saying is why don’t you wait until I get you home before you start harassing me about poor business etiquette.”

“First impressions don’t die so easily,” said Clarke.

The man deflated a bit, then said, “The name’s Bellamy.”

“I am aware, though through no introduction of yours.”

“Do you always expect so much of people? Oh wait. You’re an actress.” He snorted. Clarke crossed her arms and stared out of the window as they turned onto the twisting road of Mullholland Drive, trying to think of a witty comeback, but before she could she was distracted.

Flashing lights blocked their way. A cop waved his arms as they approached, flagging attention. Bellamy rolled up to him and slung an arm out of the car window.

“Good evening, sir. There’s an accident up this way. If you’re willing, just wait until the oncoming traffic is done passing, then you can go when I say it’s safe.”

“Sure thing. Hey, what happened, anyways?” he asked.

“Car went right over the cliff. Sped and swerved all the way here, says a few witnesses.”

Bellamy shook his head. “You feel so safe in here, some people just don’t realize how dangerous automobiles are.”

“Smart thinking, sir,” said the policeman. He looked down the road, then waved Bellamy’s taxi through to the other lane. “Way’s clear.”

“Have a good night,” Bellamy called. The taxi lurched forward as they passed the accident. The guardrail was missing a long length of fence right at a sharp turn on a hill. The car was nowhere to be seen, but the road was stained with burned rubber. The air smelled of smoke and fire, thick and choking.

If it were not for the blue and red flashing lights, Clarke would not have seen the golden purse sitting on the stretcher. Beneath the purse was the hardly recognizable shape of a small and thin woman. 

“STOP!” she screamed. Bellamy did, but she didn’t notice - she was already opening the door and walking toward the stretcher. The purse. It’d been squeezed into her hands as Clarke cried on Lexa’s bed.

“I love you,” Clarke cried. Lexa moved the hair from her shoulder and gave it a kiss.

“I love you, too.”

“It doesn’t feel like it. It feels like you’re buying my compliance.”

“Why? Because of this?” Lexa took the purse and threw it over her shoulder. “It’s a gift. I want you to be taken care of. I want you to have nice things.”

“Then marry me.”

She paused. She seemed to be considering it for a long, hard while. Then she said, “I can’t.”

Now, Clarke looked down on the stretcher with the gold purse sitting on top of it. A bloodied face blinked up at her, makeup smudged in sweat, tears and blood.

“Costia,” Clarke breathed. The woman burst into tears upon seeing her. Costia wheezed, as though she could barely stand to breathe. The paramedic working out of the ambulance noticed Clarke and took her arm, trying to turn her away from the scene. But it was just a few feet to the edge of the cliff. She needed to see.

“You can’t be here,” he said. Then a policeman was there, pulling her away from Costia.

“You need to leave,” he said.

“I- I know her,” Clarke managed to get out. “I need to...,”

Warm hands gripped her shoulders and turned her toward the taxi.

“No!” She tried to push away, but the hands held on tight.

“You don’t want to see that,” said a voice. It was Bellamy. He looked pained. “You don’t want to see it.”

“Yes I do!” Clarke screamed, pounding at him. “Let me go! I need to see if-.”

He scooped her up and deposited her in the taxi where Raven was still sleeping. He waited a second to see if she might immediately throw open the door, but she didn’t. She just put her face in her hands and wept.


	3. He's Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke deals with tragedy and opportunity,

The next week passed in a blur. Somehow food was brought forth to Clarke and she was sometimes able to eat it. Most days were spent in bed, weeping. She could not go to the funeral and face Costia. After Lexa’s death, word got out about the affair. Undoubtedly from Costia going through her personal affects and finding their love letters.

To avoid embarrassment, it was not publicized in the paper, but it became a well known secret in Costia’s circle of power. Clarke could feel doors of opportunity closing and judgmental eyes from all corners of the room. All it would take was one slip-up and this little Hollywood secret becomes juicy blackmail.

Raven recovered from her encounter with Murphy rapidly and was a true saint and nurse to Clarke. After a week passed Clarke had to be onset and Raven was the one who made sure she was in tip-top shape.

Raven pulled out a bottle of pills and pushed Clarke to down a tablet, promising it would help her sleep. She was right. A car was sent for Clarke at 5am sharp, which meant at 4:50 Raven was pushing another pill into Clarke’s mouth to wake her up. In the cold, foggy morning Clarke stumbled her way into the conspicuous black car. She wore thick sunglasses to hide her tired eyes, her blonde hair was tied up in a handkerchief, and her fur coat was tightly wrapped around her body. 

When she saw who the driver was all she could manage was a tired sigh.

“You’re going to have to get used to me,” said Bellamy with a faint smile. His eyebrows knitted together, brown eyes glancing at hers in the rear-view. He was obviously judging how well she was fairing after witnessing her visceral reaction only slightly over a week ago.

“What is there only one cabbie in all of L.A.?” she muttered, pulling out moisturizers from her purse and beginning to apply it with the help of a hand-held mirror.  
“Let’s just say I’m popular with the Hollywood big-wigs.” He lifted up a hand to tick off what he was about to say. “I’m cheap, I keep secrets, I’m responsible, and I’m the best driver.”

Clarke leaned forward as if considering what he was saying. When she spoke, her voice started soft and slowly devolved into a threateningly masculine and deep tone.“Yeah? So why do I keep running into you? Unless some Hollywood big shot hates my guts and calls you specifically.” When she caught his smile flash in the mirror she paused. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because that’s not so far off from the truth.” He paused to contain his boyish giggles. “Look - you know me through Raven. Raven knows me through a casting director, who knows me through Kane. We go way back and I owe everything to that guy. You work Kane’s film, you get Kane’s driver. You go to Kane’s party at Kane’s house, you get Kane’s driver. The operators know who to call when they hear his name.”

“You mean to tell me Kane has paid off the telephone company in order to cheat the system?”

“People are machines and money is the oil,” Bellamy said. “Wanna close that mouth of yours and lean back before you fog up my windshield?”

She slid back into her seat and fussed with her eyebrows and hair some more, but really she was wondering how deep the rabbit hole of power and control went.

“So, have you gotten a car yet?” asked Bellamy.

“Does it seem necessary to you?” she shot back.

“Do you think you’re going to be on the dime of Marcus Kane forever?” he shot back. She perked an eyebrow at him.

“I’ll deal with it when I need to,” said Clarke. “And please don’t start pitching a sale to me everyday on my way to work.”

He scoffed, then shook his head. After a few moments of silence to enjoy the radio, the sun began to come peaking out from the clouds.

“May I lower the window?” she asked. He nodded and once she was down she held her face to the breeze and inhaled.

“It always smells sweetest just after rain,” Clarke said - mostly to herself. When she was done. Bellamy cleared his throat.

“So what do you get out of that acting stuff?” he asked.

“Money,” Clarke laughed. “Fame.”

“I mean - I’m having trouble imagining how pretending to be someone else for a living is at all satisfying.”

“I can imagine multiple ways people may find acting satisfying-”

“Specifically you.”

She hesitated, gaze going to her lap. “I suppose I like being able to escape from reality.” Her eyes flashed up to meet his, then darted away when she saw he was already looking at her. “The more I live the more I have to escape from.”

He was silent as they pulled up to the movie studio. At 6pm when they were done shooting, it was a different man who took Clarke home.

 

Raven was waiting with champagne and a home-cooked meal of chicken soup and vegetable salad. 

“What’s all this for?” Clarke asked as she came in through the front door of their apartment. 

“You! Your first big gig! Do you even understand what you’ve just done today? You have officially embarked on a road that will lead you to having a role at the Annual Academy Award Show.”

“You think?”

“You’re beautiful. They’re going to gobble you up and ask for seconds.” 

Clarke started sobbing. Raven was immediately there, rubbing her back and squeezing her tightly.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” 

“I’m happy. And I’m scared,” Clarke said.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Raven said, rubbing circles into Clarke’s back. “Have some soup. You want some soup? You’re probably exhausted. 12 hours workdays are no joke. You need to eat.”

Clarke ate the soup just to make Raven happy and because she owed it to Raven to cooperate after the previous week’s disaster.

Even with a full stomach Clarke felt scared. She couldn’t shake the feeling that with Lexa gone she was blood in the water and the sharks were closing in. This role didn’t feel earned. It was because of Lexa. And now she wasn’t here to make Clarke’s worries go away or to lift the pressure of the world off her shoulders.

 

“Topic of the day,” said Bellamy as Clarke slid in the next morning. “Is there such a thing as wishing on a shooting star?”

“Of course there is. You look at a shooting star and you make a wish and that’s all there is to it.”

“But does it work?”

Clarke hesitated. “Why?” she asked finally.

“I’m just asking your opinion.”

“I don’t know if it works or not. I guess all it does is give you hope.”

He nodded, making an interested humming sound as they turned on the main highway that would take them to the studio.

“What would you wish for right this second if you could?” he asked.

Clarke thought of Lexa, thought of her mom, thought of too many painful things. Then she said, “I wouldn’t wish for anything. I want to get where life will bring me on my own merits and hard-work.”

His fingers flexed on the wheel. “You don’t need anything that would help ease your life?” he asked.

“Perhaps a house, or a car- wait a second, are you turning this into a sales pitch?”

“Oh for the love of- you make it impossible to be nice. I want to give you a car. The one my sister originally wanted to sell you.”

“I noticed you purposefully used the word ‘give’ in that sentence.”

“I want to give you that car. I shouldn’t hold onto something I don’t need, and I’d like to - well I’d like you to have it.”

“I can’t accept that,” Clarke said slowly. “You can’t give away something-”

“I can and it’s much easier to give it away then to sell it. I fixed it up when no other mechanic would touch it and made it work again, but I don’t need it, and I don’t want to hold onto it.”

“Bellamy, I can not accept this. I would feel indebted to you by tenfold.”

“What if I drop the charade that I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart and you realize I just want to get rid of an old piece of shit that will probably fall apart as soon as it hits the freeway.”

“In that case I’m affronted you care so little for my safety,” Clarke mumbled.

“The car’s free and the first...,” he paused to think, “The first three mechanic check-ups are free as long as you come to me.”

“First five.”

He scoffed. “Three.”

“Six.”

“That’s not how- no, it’s three.”

“Five.”

“No.”

“Four.”

“Three.”

“You’re actually haggling me on a gift you’re forcing me to take from you. I just want you to realize that,” Clarke said. “If you can’t do four I refuse to take it.”  
He sputtered a small protest, then sighed. “Four is a deal.”

“Alright then. Shouldn’t have gave in how desperate you were to be rid of it and I might not have haggled so ruthlessly.”  
“That wasn’t ruthle-”

“-When should I expect my vehicle to be delivered?”

“Delivery was not included in the purchase price.”

“Wha-!”

He smirked. “I don’t deliver. You’re going to have to pick it up when you get the chance.”

They pulled into the movie studio. Clarke leaned forward to get into Bellamy’s space.

“If that car kills me I will have a letter prepared that holds you specifically accountable for my death.” It was meant to be a joke, but the mood sombered rather quickly.

“I promise it’s safe.” Hesitation in his eyes. She exhaled a shaky breath she didn’t know she was holding and nodded her head, pushing open the backseat door.

“I know, I was just kidding,” she said, leaning into the open window. She ducked her from the onslaught of rain. “I’ll pick it up this weekend,” she called through the open window, then made a mad dash for the nearest trailer. 

Bellamy nodded absently, but his mind had been occupied by thoughts of a girl he used to know. One who was killed in a car he fixed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr /bellamysleftbuttcheek.


End file.
